


Target Heart Rate

by tinfoil (milkystarlight)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: (super mild necrophilia), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Anal Sex, Ben has some identity issues, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Cinnamon Roll Poe, Emotional Manipulation, Hux is Not Nice, Hux is OOC, M/M, Minor Character Death, Necrophilia, Sussudio AU, Switching, The 80s AU, Torture, do you like phil collins?, porn star/aerobics instructor au, slightly more than canon typical violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-08-18 05:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8149975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkystarlight/pseuds/tinfoil
Summary: When Ben Solo first lays eyes on Armin Hux, he falls in love. There's no way his burning obsession could ever come to fruition, but it doesn't stop him pining. He would do just about anything for Hux to notice him. 1980s Miami serial killer AU.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [porcelain_cats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/porcelain_cats/gifts).



Ben doesn't know how he got himself into this mess.

Well, he knows how parts of it happened. Moving down to Miami sounded like a great idea when Poe ran it past him. Hollywood was great if you were already an actor, but Miami was the place to be if you were just breaking into the industry. It had to be true, because Poe told him, and Ben still had a little boy's complete trust in his best friend. Besides that, his uncle Chewie had set them up with a pretty sweet apartment that looked out over the beach. 

He and Poe had agreed it was better not to ask specifics of why Uncle Chewie had this place. They pretended the dark stains on the kitchen floor were just stubborn spaghetti sauce, and that the whole place wasn't saturated the cloying smell of something having rotted there not long ago. They found secret safes hidden in the wall behind tacky paintings and false bottoms in drawers. One of the outlets was false, and folded out to reveal a small compartment with a plastic bag of cocaine. 

Ben and Poe had sat on the floor laughing over it, then arm wrestled over who got to keep the coke.

From there it had been almost as easy as Poe said it would. They'd landed work within just a few weeks of moving. The company they worked for wasn't that well known, and most of what First Order Productions had put out was straight-to-video trash, but that didn't matter to Ben. It was real, paid work in the industry! He was going to be an actor, in spite of what everyone back home had told him.

\----

"Mr. Solo?" Snoke's rasping voice rang out across the production studio, cutting through the murmur of chatter as background actors and extras milled about. Ben looked up from the Heinlien paperback he'd been trying to focus on, confusion written on his face. What was the owner of the studio doing out here? The director or one of her assistants should be pulling extras, not him.

Ben had seen Snoke exactly once, when he and Poe had auditioned with First Order Productions. Snoke hadn't said much, and both of them had tried not to look too long at his scar-smooth face. He looked as if he’d been in some terrible accident, but the scars were so old. Ben had tried not to think about it. It was better to put those kinds of things out of his mind before he could get fixated. As far as he knew, he hadn’t made any particular impression on Snoke. Why would the company's owner want anything with Ben? He hadn't had the chance to do anything that would cause problems yet.

"Mr Solo?" Snoke repeated, and this time Ben stumbled to his feet and pushed through the crowd.

"Sir?" He asked, trying to sound neutral.

Snoke's dark eyes narrowed as he looked Ben over, silently appraising him. "Right. Come with me, please. I'd like to discuss your next part."

Ben followed one step behind as Snoke led him into a tiny, windowless office. It had clearly started life as a storage closet, but the presence of a crowded desk and a slightly beat up Macintosh made the intent clear. Ben folded himself as best he could into the chair on the opposite side of the desk, only to be immediately reprimanded.

"No, no. Stand up, undress." Snoke issued the orders with a commanding gesture, like he expected to be able to lift Ben up with just the motion. 

"What?!" Ben snapped, nervousness quickly kindling into anger. "You can't just-"

"Solo." Came the sharp response. "If you are interested in ever doing work worthy of being credited with, you will do as I say. Undress."

A snarl tugged at the corners of Ben's mouth, and he yanked his t-shirt over his head and tossed it onto the desk. "Good enough?" 

Snoke tilted his head back, narrow eyes appraising the tight plane of Ben's abdomen, the defined muscles of his arms and his broad shoulders. Ben could read the hunger in his face. Poe told him, when asked, that he looked good. His little cousin Rey had sparred with him a few times. From a purely functional perspective, Ben supposed his body was alright. No one had ever stared at him like this, sizing him up like a rabbit hanging in a butcher’s window.

“Alright. Shorts off. Let me see your cock.” 

"No fucking way." Ben snatched for his shirt, only to close his hand around Snoke's bony, brittle wrist. It took conscious effort not to let go and recoil in disgust. Instead he tightened his grip, feeling bones shifting beneath the skin.

"Don't flatter yourself. Do you really think I'd waste my time debasing myself with something like you?" Snoke's voice remained impassive. "I'm offering you a golden opportunity." Ben's hand slowly went slack, and Snoke leaned back in his chair and folded his hands like a pair of brooding white birds in front of his chest. "You've got a unique face. I've never seen anyone quite like you. If the rest of your body is equally compelling, I feel that you could be very marketable in the right context.You know that we have another division here at First Order Production, correct?" He continued.

Ben blanched and shook his head numbly.

"Of course not. I'm offering you a chance to audition for Thirst Order. If you want exposure, you'll take it. I recognize that erotica may not be your first choice for launching your career, but things are changing. You're the first of a new breed of actor, Ben. Sex sells, doesn't it? Don't you want to sell? Or do you think you're going to interest any worthwhile production company with a portfolio of walk-ons and backgrounders?"

Just like that it was all laid out for Ben. He could see the progression from porn videos to art films to real acting jobs and starring roles. Thirst Order Films could put money in his pocket, could make his face and name known. He could have a fanbase. If he had fans, it wouldn't matter how he'd started...

And, a little voice in the back of his head nagged, that was how Armin Hux had gotten his start. There was the faintest glimmer of hope, dumb though it was, that he might actually get to work with Hux. 

"Alright." He replied, voice more certain than he felt. 

"Wonderful." Snoke made a dry, papery noise that Ben realized was meant to be a laugh and stood, reaching across the desk. Ben thought he meant to shake hands, until his hand landed on the waistband of Ben's shorts.

There wasn't time to protest the decisive pull that yanked the shorts down to Ben's thighs, and all Ben could bring himself to look at was the contrast of Snoke's hand and the black fabric as the director looked him over. 

"Oh yes. You're going to sell beautifully."


	2. Wild Sex (In the Working Class)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all downhill from here, Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic sex but no murder (yet).

 

"What are you all smiles about?" Poe asks that night, over pizza and beer. They’re sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by boxes that need to be unpacked. 

 

Poe has been surly all of today and yesterday, and Ben knows he's frustrated with how slowly things are progressing for him. Ben might have had realistic expectations, but Poe had come here with visions of immediate stardom. That's part of why Ben hesitates before answering, looking intently at the grease dripping from his pizza.

 

"I..uh." He shrugs one shoulder, as non-committal a response as he can give. "I guess I picked up an okay gig?"

 

"Yeah?" Poe tilts his beer towards him, smiling a little. "Good to know one of us is doing okay. What'd you get? Manage a speaking role yet?" Bitter laughter, the kind Poe only has when he knows he's wrong.

 

"Better. Or worse. You ever hear of Thirst Order?" Ben can feel the smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

 

"Not the porn studio, right?" Poe laughs, and when he sees that Ben is serious he laughs harder. "Seriously? They switched you over?" What had been a simply laugh turns into full-on guffawing, as if Ben being sexualized is the most outrageous thing Poe has ever heard.

 

Ben sits back and watches with a sardonic grin as his friend laughs himself out, doubled over in his chair. "Sure, sure. But I'm gonna have a steady paycheck, that's more than you've got."

 

"That ginger you like so much works for them, right?" Poe asks, when he has himself back under control. "The fitness one? Oh man, you think you're gonna get to bang him?!"

 

"What!” Ben had been leaning his chair back, and now almost falls over in surprise. He can feel his cheeks heating up as he tries to answer. “No, dude. Hux doesn't do porn anymore. He just does like?” Another little shrug here, trying to act like he hadn't made a point of following his crush’s every public move. “He sells diet stuff."

 

"Okay, true. But." Poe doesn’t finish the sentence, just gestures to Ben with his beer again before taking a long drink. "You know you're not the first person to jerk it to his workout videos."

 

"I don't do that!" Ben yelps defensively. He had a small collection of videos and an even smaller collection of magazines that Armin Hux had been featured in, and while he dearly loved every piece in his strange little archive he'd never touched any of Hux's more legitimate work. It was one thing to lust over a man in latex or studded black leather. It was another thing to actually admit to being attracted to him in lycra and pink spandex.

 

"You might get to film with him, though.” Poe continues, positively beaming at the blush spreading across Ben's cheeks. “I mean, he never actually  _ left  _ Thirst Order. They just put the videos in different sections of the store. The operations small enough, he probably films at the same studio you use."

 

"So, what?” Ben asks archly. “Am I supposed to be excited that my jizz and his sweat might end up on the same floor?"

 

Poe shrugs, still smiling. "Closer than I'm gonna get to Nina Hartley is all I'm sayin'."

  
  


\-------------

 

In the next few months, Ben is surprised to find that he enjoys working like this. It's normally rare to finish anything in one take. Usually there are hangups, mistakes, lube gets dropped or someone starts gagging. Ben doesn't have these problems. Everything moves so easily for him. He's a natural performer, at least in this regard. The shy, awkward boy he normally is just disappears when the camera is rolling.

 

One day the director puts a collar on him, and it all goes so easily from there. He anticipates direction before it's given, obeys instantly. It’s easy for him to understand what’s going to look best, and exactly what to do or say to make his partner and his imaginary audience feel amazing. For anyone else in the industry this might be about selling a fantasy, but for Ben it’s more than that. 

 

He loves almost every second of this; even the parts that he knows should be degrading. He's happiest with his co-star’s hands in his hair, telling him what a good boy he is. With the camera in front of him, Ben becomes nothing more than an obedient, willing doll.

 

When the first video is released he's credited as Kylo Ren. He’d struggled to decide on a name that would transfer to more legitimate work, and when Snoke finally suggested Kylo Ren it felt perfect. The new name is the final piece of who he wants to become.

 

Ben Solo is a nervous, awkward guy from Maine who never knows what to say and spends all his free time at the gym because he doesn't know how to socialize.

 

Kylo Ren is desirable, beautiful, obedient, and always the center of attention.

 

Between the two it's obvious who he would rather be. Even if this isn't exactly super stardom yet, he's still doing better than he expected.

 

There's only one part of this new life that fell short of expectations. Meeting Armin hadn’t been a conscious desire, but after Poe had jokingly brought it up the idea just wouldn’t leave Ben. It had been easy enough to find out Armin’s schedule, and even though they were often working at the same time, Ben could barely walk past the studio Armin was using without getting nervous. 

 

One evening, smoking a cigarette and finishing the Heinlein story he’d been trying to force himself to read all week, Ben learns that Hux has a dedicated camerawoman. Her name is Phasma, and she smokes Menthol 180s. She tells Ben that Heinlein is a hack, and the ensuing argument means they are, probably, friends. She invites him to come watch her film, as if it were the most normal thing. “You're going to go legit one day, right?” Her smile is angelic, completely unaware of what she’s offering.. “You should learn whatever you can while you're here.”

 

Initially, he'd rejected the offer...that looked too desperate. After weeks of trying to bring himself to talk to Armin-   
  
_ so many chances, so many times when it would have been perfectly normal to smile and say anything at all! All of them wasted! _ __  
  
-he agrees. He brings Phasma his copy of  __ The Moon is a Harsh Mistress , silently handing it over when she lets him in. She scoffs at the beat up paperback, but is kind enough to . Phasma lets him in through one of the side doors, and he takes a seat in one of the canvas director's chairs. She doesn't even try to tease him, just gives him a good-natured smile. Sometimes, Ben reflects, Phasma isn't that bad.

 

The set used for filming nearly all of the aerobics videos is monotonous, just a white floor and a pastel backdrop in shades of pink. There are a few raised podiums painted light blue, and girls with platinum blond hair in white leotards. They aren't technically part of the set, but their uniformity and silence makes them seem like little more than props.

 

He worries briefly that someone is going to tell him to leave, but as Armin and his battalion of uniform backup girls file in no one seems to notice Ben at all. He watches with singular focus as Hux nitpicks over the placement of the scant few props, and makes some last-minute requests for their background music.

 

Ben doesn't think he's actually going to enjoy watching this, but as the filming begins he realizes that there's very little difference between Armin shooting porn and Armin shooting an aerobics video. His smile is still sharp, and his laugh is just as derisive as Ben remembers.

 

Just like in the videos Ben has watched endlessly, Armin talks constantly. It's an ongoing litany of encouragement and insults. At one point Armin looks directly into the camera, at his audience, to laugh at them and ask "Is that the best you can do? Show me how much you want this." Before long he's sweating under the brilliant lights, though not yet short of breath. Sweat rolls down his neck, and Ben can't help but stare. Those shorts he's wearing are too small, Kylo can see nearly all of his thighs. They're almost milky white, like Armin goes to some great length to keep himself pale.

 

Ben lets all thought empty from his head, focusing only on Armin. The whole thing is ridiculous, but by now the sheer absurdity is part of the eroticism. He's got such complete confidence in himself that Ben finally just accepts that it. It had taken a little while to get used to the silliness of it, but by now Ben can’t tear his eyes away. It’s almost a dream: he's in the same room as his idol, watching him, hearing him laugh. If he got close enough he might be able to smell his sweat.

 

Oh no.

 

Instinctively, Ben bites the inside of his mouth, a compulsive action that occurs as soon as he realizes that he's hard. He's wearing nothing but the black shorts and tank top he throws on between shoots, which means that as soon as he stands up his interest in this is going to become more than obvious. It'll be fine, he tells himself. This is going to be just fine. He shifts uncomfortably, trying to focus on the pain in his mouth. It doesn't help, if anything the association of Armin and pain makes it worse.   
  
_ It’ll be fine,  _ he tells himself.  _ Just stop squirming. Think about something else. Anything else. _

 

Abruptly, Armin skids to a stand still. "Stop!" He calls, and the music cuts out.

 

"Leave." He orders the backup girls.

 

After exchanging worried looks, they file out together, moving by one consciousness.

 

"You," He singles Ben out, earning him a few confused looks from the rest of the crew. "Come here. Phasma, keep rolling."

 

Ben looks nervously around, as if there might be someone standing behind him that had caught Armin's attention. Slowly, he slips out of the chair, trying to adjust himself without being completely obvious. It’s entirely futile. Armin is probably disgusted to realize someone like Ben is watching him. The closest thing Ben has to a career is a video called   _ Hardcore Bone in Boca Raton.  _ If Armin even recognizes him, which is unlikely.

 

The shame should really make him feel less aroused, but of course it's having the exact opposite effect. He stands awkwardly, looking over Armin’s shoulder and trying not to exist.    
  
“I know who you are.” Armin laughs, stepping into Ben’s space and taking his hand. Hux’s hands are so much smaller, Kylo realizes with a funny rush of warmth. “You’re Snoke’s new boy, right?”   
  
“I mean, I’m an actor, yeah.” He can’t keep the edge of sarcasm out of his answer. He doesn’t want to sound that harsh, but anticipation and anxiety are making him defensive. “I’ve done some stuff under his production.”   
  
“Talking back isn’t cute.” Armin’s smile is gone instantly, and the laughter evaporates from his voice. “I think you’re really cute, if you can keep your mouth shut. You and I are gonna have some fun, okay?”

 

Ben looks to Phasma, opens his mouth to ask her if this is some kind of bizarre set up, but Armin instantly grabs his face to turn his focus back. Ben has time to notice that most of the crew, save her, have made a run for it.

 

“I asked you a question, Kylo. Are you going to answer me?” 

 

This is bizarre, no question, but Armin is touching him. Armin is right here, hands on his face, close enough that Ben can almost taste him. More than that, Armin knows him. Armin had called him by name, and even if it is just his stage name it makes Ben melt.   
  
“Yes sir.” Ben answers, only a little sarcastic this time.

 

Ben finds himself being pushed backwards onto the pedestal, Hux laughing and clammering into his lap. The other man's skin is slick with sweat already, Ben can feel the heat radiating off of him. Up close he has so many more freckles than had been noticeable in pictures. He is impossibly high definition, more real than anything else in the room. 

 

"Are you getting this, darling?" Armin calls over his shoulder to Phasma as he slips free of his shirt. His ribs are almost visible, his chest is lithe and toned and perfectly hairless. His stomach is impossibly pale and soft, and without thinking Ben pushes his hand against it. The muscles there are solid and well-defined, but hidden beneath a layer of vulnerable chub.

 

Ben groans in spite of himself, and is rewarded with an answering pressure against him. “Do you like my stomach, Kylo? I didn’t think  _ that  _ would be what you went for first,” he runs his hand down his chest, stroking his own stomach before pushing Ben’s hand against him harder. 

 

"I want you to keep your eyes on me, alright, love?" Armin coaxes, tilting Ben's chin up. He's smiling, eyes bright and glittering, perfect hair tousled. "Don't look at anything else. There’s just you and me right now, right?" he leans in for what might have been a kiss, but instead sinks his teeth into Ben’s lower lip. He bites hard, eliciting a yelp from his partner. 

 

He palms at Ben through his thin black shorts, making no effort to hide the groan of approval when he wraps his hand around Ben's hardening cock. His smile turns predatory, all teeth, and he pulls the little shorts out of the way. "This looks so delicious~" He trills, slinking to his knees between Ben's spread legs. 

 

Armin's lips wrap around the head, sucking lightly before bobbing down to take more. He quickly finds that, despite his best efforts, he can't actually get the entire length down his throat without gagging. "Wow, I didn't realize I still had any gag reflex left!" Armin laughs, wiping spit from the corner of his mouth before returning to his treat. He swallows around it, tongue working against the underside and throat constricting around the tip.

 

"Holy shit..." Ben couldn't have looked away if he wanted to. The image of Armin on his knees, dressed in nothing but a pair of tight workout shorts, methodically swallowing down every inch of his cock was a dream come true. "Holy shit, l-let me touch you." Ben's hand twitched towards Armin's hair, finally feeling the gel-stiff mess between his fingers. 

 

He lets himself forget anything else, slipping into the soft warmth of Armin’s mouth. Being filmed like this should make him self-conscious, but he’s shot enough porn now that he doesn’t even register it. He just watches in silent awe as Armin bobs his head, struggling to take as much as he could. One hand drifts between his legs, palming himself through his shorts. When Armin moans decadently around Ben’s shaft the sensation reverberates through him.

 

All too soon Armin is pulling back. There’s an obscene pop as he gives the head one final slurp, then wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Before Ben can whine about the loss Armin is talking over him. “When I first saw your video, I couldn’t believe this was real.” His hand on Ben’s cock is almost reverent. “And now it’s all mine.” He squeezes the base tightly, enough to draw a lazy moan from Ben.   


Then Armin is standing up, pulling his shorts and underwear down and stepping out of them. Ben stares, openly and shamelessly. As many times as he’s seen Armin naked, replaying the same old videos is nothing compared to seeing him in reality. Hs cock is straining up towards his stomach, flushed pink-red, and Ben doesn’t actually have any awareness between his desire to touch him and the act of grabbing him by the hip to pull him back into his lap.

 

“Just a moment, dear.” Armin laughs, pushing at Ben’s chest to lean back. He reaches behind himself, and Ben makes another broken noise at the inadvertent contact between their bodies.    
  
He’s dimly aware of Phasma moving to get a better angle at what Ben assumes is Armin fingering himself. Kylo doesn’t actually see Armin’s fingers slipping on the base of the bright pink toy currently filling him, but he sees the other man’s eyes flutter shut, mouth open in a silent cry. He shivers a little, and as Ben watches Armin slides the plug free and drops it to the floor.    
  
This is the closest Ben has ever been to a holy experience.   
  
Armin is grinning wolfishly down at him. “Don’t look so shocked, it isn’t as if I come to every taping with something inside me. Do you know how hard it was to keep control with that so deep inside me?” He laughs, high and broken, something about it makes a wave of fear curl up in Ben’s hindbrain. There’s something deeply wrong with that laugh, and the forced smile that accompanies it.

 

Some instinct tells him to get out, that this is too easy, too contrived, that Armin wants something from him other than the obvious. But then the redhead is on spitting into his palm and slicking Ben’s dick and any kind of self-preservation goes out the window. Armin was intimidating even on grainy video, it made sense that he would be a little scary in person.

 

“This is fine, isn’t it?” Armin purrs as he positions himself over Ben. He doesn’t actually wait for an answer before baring down, forcing his slick, stretched rim to open for the wide tip of Ben’s dripping prick. 

 

It was slow going, but so much easier than Ben would’ve expected. He tries to push in deeper, gripping Armin’s hips to encourage him to take more. 

 

“I did this just for you.” Armin tells him, voice softer and closer to breathless. “Slicked myself up and wore that plug all day so I’d be ready for your perfect cock. I wanted you since I first saw you.” His hands brace against Ben’s chest, trying to give himself better leverage, nails digging in and leaving little red welts. “I’ve been positively  _ dying  _ to get you inside me, Kylo.”

 

It feels like an eternity before he’s fully seated. The heat is overpowering; between the feeling of their bodies finally intertwined and the sheer radiance of Armin’s smile Ben thinks he might just pass out. Armin lifts himself, lets out a long, obscene cry as he starts to impale himself all over again.    
  
Ben’s nails bite into the soft skin beneath him and he’s fucking up into the tight, clenching heat that surrounds him. He thinks dimly that he might hurt Armin, but nothing would slow him at this point. Not with Armin scratching down his chest, sharp nails dragging blood to the sweat-shimmering expanse of muscle. 

 

Armin will not shut up. He keeps up a constant train of commentary, mostly instructions that grow more disjointed as Ben quickly learns exactly what he likes. “Right there, right there Kylo, darling, that’s it, that’s perfect, that’s my obedient little whore-” It’s enough to drown out the incoherent noises Ben isn’t even aware that he’s making.

 

Their bodies fit together as if this is what they were made for. All Ben wants, all he can imagine ever wanting, is to please Armin. He is joyously mindless, drifting higher and higher into the haze of ecstasy. 

 

“Come on now, sweetheart.” Armin’s breath comes in sharp little gasps now. “I need your hand on my cock. Can you do that for me, baby? Can you be a good little fucktoy and make me cum?” 

 

Ben’s hand almost completely covers the heavily dripping organ, thumb dragging against the damp head. The surprised little noise this earns him prompts him to repeat the motion twice more before he begins stroking him. Each pass of his hand tightens a little, and each time Armin bucks up into it. 

 

Armin’s back arches as his orgasm tears through him, painting Ben’s tight stomach with thick globs of his spend. His whole body goes taut, insides clenching spasmodically around the thick tool pounding into him. “Oh god--” He’s almost screaming. “Filthy--dirty boy, don’t you dare stop. Fuck me until I can’t move, that’s all whores like you are good for--Oh, fuck, fuck, I want to feel your cum dripping out of me, hurry--” 

 

Obediently, Ben keeps jerking him as he thrusts desperately into him. He can feel his balls drawing up, can feel Armin’s cum cooling on his body. With a strangled cry he coats the shuddering walls of Armin’s abused hole, still mechanically working his hips through it. 

 

Ben collapses, Armin spread out on top of him, spent and sticky and still twitching with aftershocks. He drags his lips along the other man’s jaw in a sloppy kiss. Now he’s aware of how uncomfortable the wooden podium under his back is and how cold the room suddenly feels. Armin is running his hand through Ben’s messy, sweat-damp hair, and that sort of makes up for everything else. 

 

A few breaths later Armin lifts his head up to return the kiss, sighing happily into Ben’s open mouth. When he pulls back to speak his attention is directed beyond Kylo. “Phasma? Did you get all that? Can we use that or do we need to reshoot?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Semi SFW art! ](http://c4rc4ss.tumblr.com/post/149522575636/sussudio-au-boyz-in-the-style-of-patrick)


	3. Private Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This is my private life_  
>  Ive got no friends to fear  
> Ive got no problems, no cross to bear  
> If you can find me  
> Come and get me out of here 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for (excessive????) gore. Amputation. Misuse of fire ants. Also, Millicent!

The cool burst of air conditioning that wafts over Armin’s skin is a welcome relief from the blazing heat outside. Armin mentally chastises himself as he stands in the entryway to remove his running shoes and brush off the dirt clinging to his knees. He really should have waited until it was dark to go for his run. He wipes sweat from his forehead and takes a final swig from his water bottle as Millicent pads over to him, bumping her furry head against his leg in a plea for affection.

There’s a plastic bag in his hand marked “gardening soil”, which he sets down as the cat approaches him. A single ant, bright red against the white, struggles to climb over the rim. He scoops the cat up, cradling her enormously fluffy bulk to his chest and cooing sweetly at her. “I got the garden all taken care of! I did~ Were you a good girl while Daddy was gone?” 

Much to Millicent’s irritation he sets her down, unable to balance both the chubby cat and the overstuffed bag. She meows up at him, and he answers back in an almost identical meow. They continue in this vein as they walk through the house, Armin’s bare feet tracking once through a smear of blood on the floor.

“Oh damn. I’d better get that soon, it’s going to stain the tile.” He pouted at the darkening streak, then flashed a smile at the fluffy ginger cat at his feet. “That’s alright.If anyone asks we’ll just tell them you brought in a chipmunk.” 

Millicent gave a small chirping meow as Armin keyed in the security code to open the basement door. The whole thing was wildly impractical, he knew. A basement in this part of town had been so expensive to build, and sound proofing it had been even more trouble than it was worth. But there were certain sacrifices he had to make for his art.

His real art. Not the drivel he churned out to keep himself afloat.

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy his work. Armin couldn’t bring himself to do anything that he didn’t enjoy at least a little. Porn was more fun than the self-help empire he was building, but the money was good. But his real purpose, his real passion, was kept safe and secret down here.

At the bottom of the stairs he sets the bag down, pauses to flick one of the ants back into the dirt inside. He flips a switch, flooding the room with light. The first room is paneled with white tile, drains set into the floor at intervals. A stainless steel operating table is pushed against one wall, and a row of neatly polished tools sit on the rolling hand cart next to it. Usually he breaks down his raw materials here, and takes them into the next room to process. Most of the time the raw materials aren’t good enough to made into anything but dinner. He’s fortunate that his last catch was so successful.

A large cage sits on the center of the room, inside it crouches his current project. 

The project had tried to tell Armin its name a few times. It had tried to tell him about its life before he had found it, presumably some misguided attempt to convince him that it should be set free. He had laughed. Whatever it had been was irrelevant now. 

It’s almost finished, he decides as he approaches the cage. Yesterday he’d taken its legs down a few more inches. The initial amputation had been right above the knee, and although the project had sobbed in pain he’d kept going. He knew from experience how to take all the right precautions to keep his work from bleeding out. If the tourniquets were a little ragged looking, well...that was fine, wasn’t it? Those weren’t part of the ultimate design. After giving it a little time to recover, Armin had decided that the legs needed to be just a little shorter. He’d taken them down to the middle of the project’s thighs last night.

The scraps of meat he’d pulled from that had been stir fried with vegetables. They’d been delicious, and he’d been disappointed that there weren’t any leftovers to share with Phasma. She always appreciated his cooking.

The project’s arms had been shortened, just nubs jutting from the shoulders. He’d tried sewing the hands back on there, but it just hadn’t looked right. The overall effect had been too startling. This piece was about minimalism, not some garish shock piece. He’d leave that to Serrano. 

Judging from the way it tries to press itself against the farthest bars of its enclosure the project can still hear him just fine. It might even hear better now that it had been blinded. He’d considered sewing its eyes shut, but that hadn’t been the right effect. In the end he’d settled for using a small speculum to hold its eyes open and carefully administering drops of drain cleaner until its eyes were milky white and sightless. 

Blinding the project had been a real personal challenge, if Armin was being honest with himself. 

He still remembered the article the Miami Herald had run on his work. The quote from the chief of police had called him sick, had accused him of being driven by attention; in short it had said some rather rude things about his work and how it reflected on him as a person. Armin hadn’t bothered to keep the article, but he remembered the words clearly. ‘What we have here is a deranged, narcissistic individual driven by a compulsive need to be the center of attention. He wants his victims, and everyone else, to see him.’

So, this project wouldn’t see anything at all! It was petty, sure, but Armin couldn’t help feeling proud of his stroke of genius. 

“Good evening, darling!” Armin trills, tapping rhythmically on the top of the cage. “Did you miss me?”

The project tries to speak, but of course that’s useless. He’d taken its tongue out a few days ago, when he tired of it endlessly repeating its name and begging. 

“I’m sure you did. It must get lonely down here.” He crouched down and stuck his hand through the bars, lightly scratching the project behind its ear. “That’s okay. I’m almost finished with you. Then we‘ll take you back upstairs. We can even leave you at that daycare you worked at before I found you. Won’t that be nice?” 

The project shifted away from him as best it could on its amputated nubs, whining in pain. 

“Here now, roll over, let me see how your weight reduction incisions are healing.”

Armin was meticulous and neat. All that remained of the pounds and pounds of excess flesh that had once held this beautiful work were a line of clean sutures running up either side of its torso. He’d removed more than 40 pounds of fat, reducing his project to the slim shape it had been meant to be. 

That had taken nearly all day, but it had been worth it in the end. He’d also gone ahead and sutured shut the place where its sex had been. It didn’t need that anymore.

Of course, that had made elimination a little difficult. He hadn’t exactly been interested in making sure it could still urinate, only with the aesthetic of having a perfectly neat row of sutures.

Armin had dealt with that partially by simply not feeding the thing, which came with the benefit of a few more pounds being lost. Now it was growing clear that if he didn’t finish the project soon the risk of infection would be far too high. He couldn’t stand the thought of letting this piece be ruined by something as simple and basic as dirty blood.That had moved up his deadline on this one quite a bit. 

“You’re coming along just fine.” He said running his finger along the stitching. The skin felt hot to the touch, and he pulls away from the little bit of pus seeping from deep inside the stitches. Infected. So much for his original deadline. This one was going to have to be finished up tonight. 

“Do you want to know how my day was? I’m sure you do. After all, there’s not much going on down here!” Armin covers his mouth as he laughs. Settling cross legged on the cool tile, he leans against the bars and absently strokes the project’s hair. 

Jealous, Millicent bumps her way into his lap.

“So, do you remember that boy I was telling you about? The one that was so cute, who was following me around the studio? You remember, don’t you, Milly? I caught him picking up some of my cigarette butts a few days ago. Well, today Phasma got him to come in to watch us tape and he finally caved!” Armin rocked back and forth with his giggles, and the horrific creature in the cage flinches at the sound of his laughter. “I can’t even begin to tell you how cute he was! He’s so obedient, he tasted so good. I really think he’s going to be my masterpiece. He’s going to be absolutely perfect once I finish with him.”

He gave his current project an appraising look. “Shame you won’t get to see him. You’ll be long done by then. Actually, why don’t we take care of that now. I had such a great idea when I was out running tonight!”

Armin rises from his spot on the floor to unlock the cage. Reaching in to grab the project’s hair he leads it out, patient and gentle as it struggles to move on the nubs that remain of its limbs. It doesn’t cry, but it makes weak noises with every step. When the project is out in the open he lifts it as easily as he had lifted Millicent, balancing it on one hip. Together they move to the table, where Armin lays out the project as gently as he would a lover.

“Lets get you opened up, okay?” He says as he adjusts the straps that will hold his project still while he works. “I’ve gone through all the trouble of digging up a fire ant nest that was in the back yard. I think once this is done we’ll be ready to find someplace to drop you off!” A resolute sigh and a disparaging glance down at Millicent, who is weaving about his ankles. “And maybe we’ll decide what to do with Kylo.”

Armin is so wrapped up in trying to decide the best way to tempt his new plaything into his workshop that he barely hears the broken sounds of his project as he cuts through its sternum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Serrano ](http://www.andresserrano.org/) is an artist whose work is meant to inspire shock. His most famous work is the [_Immersion (Piss Christ)_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piss_Christ), which wasn't actually displayed until 1987. He started making art in 1983 so it's still possible Hux would have known of him.


	4. Something Isn't Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Who would've guessed that_  
>  When I first set eyes upon your face  
> History would be rearranged and  
> Nothing would ever be the same
> 
>  
> 
> Ben and Armin go on a date

Two days later Poe comes home from work to find Ben leaning over the counter in the master bathroom, carefully applying eyeliner that extends halfway to his ears. His hair is teased out to an absurd degree, and his lips are painted bright red.

“You got a date?” Poe asks, leaning against the doorframe.

Startled, Ben flinches and manages to smear liquid liner down his cheek. “Jeez, dude…” He sighs and rubs at it, making the smear worse. 

“Anyone I know?” Poe continues, walking over and turning Ben’s face towards him. He lick his thumb and scrubs away the makeup. He’s been fixing Ben’s make up since they were sixteen. At this point he applies it better than Ben does, though neither of them would admit that.

“Na. Guy from work.” 

Poe knows that shifty look. Ben is usually happy to tell him anything, but the rare occasions when he doesn’t mean that Ben is holding onto something that is either too good to share, or that he’s afraid Poe will mock him for. He looks closely at Ben, trying to calculate which it is, and if it’s worth pushing. Ben is like a brother to him, they have almost no secrets between them.

“This guy got a name?” He asks casually, picking up the liner and trying to match the design on the left side of Ben’s face.

“Armin.” 

Ah, that explained it. There was no way Ben had actually managed to work up the courage to ask his crush out. Even if he had, Poe couldn’t see Armin actually agreeing. Armin was so far out of Ben’s league he doubted the guy even knew Ben existed. “I see. One of those dates. You want me to come with?” 

“No, I’m serious!” Ben snatches the liner away from Poe, finishing the design on his own. “He asked me out. I...I sorta. Made friends with his camera woman. And watched a few tapings. And he…? He asked me out.” Ben blushes a little, swallowing and looking away from Poe’s reflection in the mirror. There was no reason to give Poe all the little details. “Anyway, no, it’s not ‘one of those dates’. I’m actually going out with him, not just. Following.” He shrugs one shoulder, trying to act like his usual dating pattern isn’t abnormal..

Poe isn’t sure if he believes him or not, but isn’t going to say anything. Maybe Ben managed to get invited to some kind of group outing that the object of his obsession would just happen to be at. Maybe the camera woman was hosting a party. Whatever the case, this at least was better than some of the questionable dates he’d engineered back home. Poe sometimes helped with those, usually acting as cover when the person Ben was shadowing got suspicious. 

“Okay, well,” Poe steps back to assess how Ben looks. Those pants were way too tight, but that was probably intentional. He wore a black lace shawl over a thin t-shirt. His boots were pointed, with too many buckles that Poe was pretty sure were actually for anything. “Does he date women? Because you look like a woman.” 

“I look like Robert Smith. Anyway, what’s wrong with being a woman?” Ben brushes past Poe to retrieve a wide brimmed hat from an indistinct black pile of clothing on the bed. Placing it on his head he turned to face Poe, trying his best not to look anxious. “Seriously, do I look alright? I really want this to work out, you know?”

“Yeah man, you’re great. Trust me, he’ll love you.” Poe always tried to be encouraging. Ben’s little crushes were probably harmless. He was a little strange, sure, but he’d never hurt anyone. Poe was almost certain that whatever the actual plan for the night was, Armin would barely notice poor Ben.

++++

When Armin picks Ben up a little later, he’s driving a hot pink GT Mustang that Ben had never seen before. The car is in perfect shape, meticulously clean inside. Ben wonders how long he’s had it, or if he just makes a point of keeping everything this neat. He had initially been worried about having to make conversation, but Armin keeps up an almost endless stream of talk that really only required Ben to agree every so often.

Ben holds on to every word, watching the way the streetlights played across Armin’s skin. He couldn’t manage to look directly into Armin’s eyes without turning red. Instead he simply sits back and listens, entranced by the lilting pattern of Armin’s accent. 

The club they pull up to is bigger than Ben had expected. He was used to seedy little places in back alleys. This place was all neon lights and tremendous greek statues. The neon sign above the entryway proclaimed ‘The Babylon’ in curling font. Absurdly, it reminded him of the diner his cousin Rey waited tables at back home. She would probably fit right in at a place like this. He had always envied Rey’s skill for making friends wherever she went.

Armin hands the keys over to a valet in a white tuxedo jacket, and Ben realizes that neither of them were exactly dressed for a place like this. Armin’s short sleeve white button down would almost pass, but those silvery shorts wouldn’t. There were so many people, and already Ben realizes they’d gotten some strange looks. No, scratch that.  
They aren’t getting strange looks. 

He’s the one getting the strange looks, pointed judgement of the few patrons lingering outside. Just him. He stuck out too much, like a piece of quartz mixed in with diamonds. This was a mistake. There was no way Armin actually wanted to be here, not with him. He was too tall, his ears were too big, even with his hair to hide them they were noticeable and-

A voice cut through the beginning of his anxiety. “Kylo, are you okay?” Armin asks, squeezing his hand.

Kylo.

That was right. He didn’t have to be that paranoid little boy if he didn’t want to. He could be something better. He hadn’t even told Armin his real name. 

“Yeah, babe.” Kylo flashes his date a wolfish grin, more predator than friend. “Let’s go.”

After a few drinks the mirrors on the walls inside no longer make him nervous. It’s crowded enough that no one really pays too much attention to them, despite his appearance. If anything, they were probably more distracted by Armin’s sparkling silver shorts. Where had he even gotten those? 

Easier still was the fact that Armin refused to stay in one place. They’d spent maybe ten minutes at the bar-just long enough to order drinks and knock them back-before he was dragging Kylo out onto the dance floor. Getting service that quickly at such a crowded club was a new experience.

Dancing was definitely not something Ben felt confident in, even as his alter ego Kylo. It was just good luck that there were so many people crowded together that there wasn’t much room to move, and he was able to grind against Armin. Every time their hips touched Kylo ended up with glitter clinging to him. 

They kept going back for more drinks, Armin plying him with different brightly colored concoctions that tasted like fruit and eventually made the room spin. By then he couldn’t feel self conscious; he couldn’t feel much at all beyond a kind of numb giddiness. 

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Kylo whispers, pulling Armin against him. The music was pounding, the place smelled like cigarette smoke and suntan lotion, and he couldn’t imagine ever being happier. Armin was smiling up at him, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to him almost as tightly as those damned shorts. “I’m so lucky to be here with you.”

“I know,” Armin laughs, wrapping his arms around Kylo’s broad shoulders and leaning in to kiss him gently. Kylo stiffens and hastily glances around, but no one really seems to notice or care. “Are you ready for things to get even better?” He slips away from Kylo, motioning for him to follow as he made his way through the crowd towards the...bathroom?

Oh no.

Naturally, Kylo followed. He was having trouble actually walking in a straight line, but that was only because everything around him was tilting back and forth. He stumbles into the men’s room, and as soon as he’s in Armin locks the door.

The rhythmic thunder of amplified bass is still audible, but it’s reduced here. As Armin presses him against the locked door to cover his mouth in another kiss Kylo grabs hold of him to steady himself. He tries to return the kiss, open-mouthed and more teeth than anything. Armin is pulling away before he can right himself, and for a split second Kylo thinks he must have screwed this up too. 

Armin is licking his lips, cheeks flushed. He looks positively giddy as he produces a small plastic bag from his pocket.

 

For the first time Armin is actually quiet. He pours out a few lines of white powder onto the long counter. A razorblade tumbles out of the bag, and Armin begins cutting the powder, re-aligning it, cutting again. It’s oddly engrossing to watch, and Kylo sinks to the floor with his chin resting on the counter. 

“ s’pretty…” He slurs. “You’re pretty.”

“I know.” Armin says, and they both laugh. “Have you done this before? Probably not It’s good stuff, better than whatever you’ve done before. When we finish this off, you’re going to suck my cock.” 

Ben would object. He’s never done anything like that in public, and the risk of getting caught with Armin’s dick down his throat was scarier than the prospect of cocaine. Before he worked for Thirst Order his sexual experiences had been limited to one awkward high school encounter and a lifetime of compulsive masturbation.

But...he isn’t Ben right now, is he? And if Armin asks him to do it, there can’t be anything wrong with it. He watches Armin bending gracefully at the waist, resting his elbows on the table and rolling up a twenty dollar bill to snort the first line. 

He’s glorious, just as beautiful as he had been in all of Kylo’s fantasies, and when he throws his head back to laugh Kylo can’t stop himself surging back up to his feet to kiss him. He wants to taste every inch of him, would gladly drink his sweat if it meant getting just a little closer. 

Armin is talking to him, something about how it’s Kylo’s turn. “Hate coke.” Kylo slurs between kisses. “Just makes me piss, don’t do anythin’ else.” All he wants is to keep tasting him. He paws at the front of Armin’s shorts, cupping his thickening cock through the shimmery material. 

Armin’s hand is in his hair, pulling him back roughly to make sure Kylo is looking at him when he says “I don’t care. Do as I tell you.”

Disobedience will not be tolerated.

Kylo takes the tightly rolled bill and makes quick work of the thin white line. It makes his teeth ache and head pound. After a few seconds the pounding has migrated from his head to the door. As Armin is cutting and arranging another line for himself, he realizes that there actually is someone pounding on the locked door. “Use the ladies room!” Kylo yells at them. 

“Hux!” Screams a deep Brooklyn accent from the other side of the door. “Hux, I know you’re in there you little queer! Open up!” 

A brief but clear expression of fear flickers across Armin’s face. Whoever it is on the other side of the door is still pounding, louder and more insistent this time. 

“Kylo.” He says softly, glancing around the room for some other way out. There’s nothing of course, not even a window he could wriggle through. “Kylo, I need you to unlock the door. We’re going to….I’m not sure. We’re just going to...talk. Sure. Sure, this is fine.” He runs a hand through his hair, trying to settle it back into place, and straightens his shirt. 

Kylo does as he’s told, unlocking the door and opening it. Behind him, Armin is torn between snorting as much of the remaining coke as he can or just brushing it back into the bag. 

The older man standing there is a few inches shorter than Kylo, but much wider and heavier set. His fake on tan gave his skin an orange cast. His shirt was unbuttoned almost all the way, and whatever hair had once been on his head seemed to have transplanted itself to his chest. He is fat and sweating and does not look especially threatening.

“Yeah?” Kylo says. “What’s up? Kind of a private party here, can it wait?”

Before the man can speak Armin nudges past Kylo, standing close enough that Kylo is able to wrap a protective arm around him. “Boorka!” Armin trills, plastering on his biggest, fakest smile. “Boorka, my dear friend. What on Earth is troubling you?”

“Cut the crap, fairy.” Boorka snaps. “You owe me. You owe me a lot.” His hand drops to the gun tucked into the waistband of his white linen trousers. Fat fingertips trace over it with the kind of reverence other men reserve for their wives. “Got a lotta nerve showin’ up here, like I ain’t gonna notice you, like I ain’t gonna collect.”

If Armin is worried, it doesn’t show. “You know I think you’re right. I do recall having a small outstanding balance with you. Except,” he pats at his hips and digs into his pockets, making a show of looking for something. “I do believe I’ve left my wallet in the car. How silly of me! Why don’t we all just...very quietly...slip out the back door and I’ll get your money. Okay?”

Boorka draws his gun, and gestures down the dark hall. “Go. Don’t try nothin’. Your boyfriend needs to keep his hands where I can see them.” 

After pressing an awkward kiss to Armin’s temple, Kylo lets go of him and allows him to lead the odd group out through the back entrance. Boorka follows, gun aimed at Armin’s back. Kylo is still stumbling, but all together he doesn’t feel that bad. He’s not scared, although maybe he should be. He thinks maybe he could take this guy...and wouldn’t that impress Armin? 

They make their way out into the alleyway behind the club, Kylo wrinkling his nose at the sour smell of rotting food and piss. They walk in uncharacteristic silence to the parking lot, picking their way through until they arrive at a black porsche. It’s nice, it is unquestioningly the kind of car Kylo would kill for, but it’s not what they arrived in. 

“Oh, golly.” Armin sighs dramatically. “Boorka, honey, I just realized. The valet still has my keys.” He gives an apologetic smile. “Why don’t I just-”

Boorka slams the butt of his gun against the glass on the driver’s side window, sending glass crumbling into the seat and setting off the alarm. He looks to Armin, watery eyes expectant, and Armin leans carefully into the car.

What happens next is hard for Kylo to process. Armin snaps back, his white button down tearing on the remaining bits of shattered window. All Kylo can see is the tiny drops of blood from the little pricks. He hears Boorka’s startled grunt and the heavy sound of Armin’s fist connecting with his neck.

Boorka staggers back, repulsive thick fingers clawing at something in his neck. He yanks free what Kylo now actually manages to process as a long, jagged piece of the shattered window. A brilliant arc of blood shoots from the wound, splattering the ground and staining Armin’s shoes.

When Boorka releases the shard of glass, confusion and horror written on his face, he fumbles for his gun. He’s thrown completely off balance, crashing to his knees before he can manage to get the weapon free. 

Armin walks daintily behind him, sidestepping the blood on the pavement, and plants his foot solidly on Boorka’s wide back. One good shove sends him toppling face-first to the ground.

“You killed him.” Kylo whispers, watching as Armin runs a hand through his hair and smears blood into it. “You…” 

“No, no, he’s not dead yet.” Armin laughs, coming back over and standing on tiptoes to kiss Kylo. It’s not really the best time for this, but Kylo puts his hand on Armin’s slim hips and lets him slide the black overshirt off him. 

“I’m taking this, okay?” Armin continues, wrapping the lacy garment around his hand. He crouches down to retrieve Boorka’s gun, careful to be sure his bare skin doesn’t ever touch the metal. 

He fires once, the bullet tearing open Boorka’s skull. 

The sound is deafening, and for a second Ben is aware of himself and Kylo as two different people. Kylo, extension of Armin, accessory to murder. Ben, extension of Poe, extension of his mother, extension of Rey. 

“Right then, that’s that.” Armin drops the gun, wraps the shard of glass in Kylo’s borrowed shirt. “We should go.” 

If anything is off about their behavior it isn’t noticeable to the valet out front. They barely make it out of the parking lot before Kylo (because he’s sure that’s who he is now, if he’s with Armin then he must be Kylo, must be this truer version of himself) is draping himself over the center console, overwhelmed by just how badly he needs to touch the other man. “You killed him,” Kylo keeps repeating, somehow unable to believe what he had actually seen. “You killed him, holy shit.” 

“Yes, well, I had very little choice. I hope you’re not put off?” Armin doesn’t look at him when he asks. He doesn’t even try to push Kylo away, despite how distracting the mouth at his neck and the hand fumbling with his fly must be.

“No. No..I...holy fuck, I think I’m in love with you.” He blurts out, too high from the rush to even be ashamed. “That was...I’ve never seen anything like it, that was amazing. You have to let me fuck you.” His voice almost breaks, and he pulls away to slump down in the passenger seat. “Please? Pull over, let me suck your cock.” He’s shaking all over,every nerve burning. 

By now he should be crashing back down from the coke, but he’s overwhelmed with a kind of happiness he can’t remember ever feeling. He’s never been more turning on in his life, his whole body humming with energy. He is raw, exposed, overwhelmed by how collected Armin is about all of this. 

“I love you.” He repeats, and Armin just laughs at him. It’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever heard. 

“I know.” Armin blast through a red light, seemingly oblivious to the drivers slamming on their horns. When he turns that thousand watt grin to Kylo, bright eyes manic and sparkling, it feels like the world is going to simply snap apart. “I love you too.”

When they kiss Kylo is sure he can taste blood on his tongue.

+++++  
Armin's house smells like lemons and bleach. Clean. Every surface is meticulously clean, shines enough that the place seems absolutely unlived in. Kylo has only a vague impression of ‘clean’ and ‘white’ because as soon as the door is shut he’s grabbing Armin by his shirt and slamming him against the wood, slotting his leg between his thighs and devouring him. Kylo wants to drop to his knees there, but something solid and unfamiliar is bumping against his ankle.

He looks down, oblivious to Armin’s dazed look and the thin string of saliva connecting their mouths, to try to make sense of the bloated, three-legged, ginger animal at his feet. It makes a noise that might be a meow but is more like a worn-down chirp. 

“Oh, Millicent,” Armin slips out of Kylo’s grasp to kneel and gather up the tubby monstrosity. “Sweetie, were you lonely?” He scratches it under the chin (or the space where its chin would have been if it weren’t consumed by fluff) and it makes a noise like a can opener. “I know, I know.” He continues, nuzzling the fluff and kissing it on the head. “Millie, this is Kylo! Kylo, meet my darling baby Millicent.” Armin looks at the ugly thing as if it were his own child, and that was almost enough to make Kylo feel a little less disdain for the beast. 

“Oh. Uh. Hey.” The cat (he’s pretty sure it’s a cat, it could be a very troubled pug) had definitely broken his momentum. “Nice to meet you…?” 

Armin lets Millicent slip from his arms; she pads off across the white tile floor with her short tail crooked. “You’re so cute, Kylo. Come on, come upstairs with me.” He took Kylo’s hand, and again all Kylo can think is how small Armin is. He’s tall enough, but his hands, his shoulders, everything about him looks so small and breakable. That’s deceptive, though. Kylo already knows what Armin can do. 

The arc of the drug dealer’s blood, richer than any red Kylo had seen before, flashes through his mind again. Kylo feels that giddiness washing over him again. He follows Armin up to the bedroom, seeing the house around him in only dimly lit impressions. 

Armin’s bedroom is enormous. Of course it would be, he’s a star, isn’t he? The furniture is all mirrored-the dresser, the headboard, even the nightstands are reflective and immaculately polished. In other circumstances Kylo would be sick with seeing his own awkwardness thrown back at him, but right now all he can think about is the bruise forming on Armin’s neck and how he can add more of those little marks. He doesn’t hesitate when he grabs the smaller man, lips crashing to the white column of his neck to worry over that bruise again. He all but throws him onto the bed, tearing at his shirt. 

 

“Absolute brute,” Armin is whispering as he slips his hand between them to unbutton his shirt. His shorts dig into the soft meat of his thighs and just above his hips, and Kylo dips down to drag his teeth over the slight curve of his hipbones. Armin sighs, arching up to give Kylo a better angle to sink his teeth in. 

Kylo yanks the little shorts down, running his hands possessively up Armin’s thighs. Their contrast makes his head swim, makes him ache. The stark contrast of his sun browned skin against this ivory white is enough to make his mouth water. Armin’s cock is still mostly soft, and now that Kylo is able to sit back on his heels and look, take in all the details that were lost in their first encounter, he realizes there are freckles there too. Kylo dips down to kiss them, and is rewarded with a disconnected noise of approval. Armin is opening his mouth to tell Kylo to suck him when Kylo does exactly that, swallowing the whole thing in one fluid motion. 

Soft it’s no effort to engulf him. Kylo looks up at his idol with desperation written in his wide, dark eyes as he begins to suck, gently dragging his tongue up the lengthening shaft. 

“You look good like that,” Armin purrs, running his hand through Kylo’s hair. “You belong down here, between my legs, serving me.”

Kylo’s eyes fall shut as the words wash over him. He shivers under them, aware not for the first time of the strange sensation of belonging that comes with them. He moans around the flesh that’s beginning to obstruct his breathing, swallowing as it grows within the confines of his mouth. As he bobs his head, nose pressed into sparse red hair before slurping his way back up, Kylo lets his mind grow blank. He hasn’t sucked enough cock to actually be good at it without trying.

“You’re so eager to make me feel good, aren’t you? But don’t worry, love. We’ve got all night.” Armin’s voice doesn’t give away any of his growing excitement, but the hand carding through Kylo’s hair grows frantic, stroking his again and again. “Did you like watching me kill Boorka? You looked so shocked when I shoved that glass shard into his neck. Did you think I wasn’t going to do it? I had to defend you, didn’t I?”

 

Kylo finds that it goes easier if he just lets his jaw go slack, and lets Armin guide his movements. The hands holding tight to his hair guide him with surprising gentleness. He’s empty, nothing but a warm, soft hole to be fucked. 

“Do you want to know about the others, Kylo? All the other disgusting maggots I’ve purged from the Earth? It gets you off to think about me killing them.” Armin thrusts up into his mouth faster now, oblivious to the struggling gasps of his partner. “Gets you off to imagine me kneeling in the puddles of their spilt blood. They’re always so warm. No matter what kind of person they were before, once I get my hands on them they’re all nothing but endless warmth, soft and yielding under my hands. Pliant. Obedient. Just like you.”

Kylo actually sobs at that, rolling his hips uselessly into the mattress. It’s not even close to enough friction to give him what he needs. He digs blunt fingers into Armin’s hips, more to steady himself than to hold him down. Kylo already knows not to try to assert any kind of control. He lets himself sink into the heady dissociative warmth, feeling nothing but the cock relentlessly filling his throat and the abstract need boiling in his stomach.

 

“There’s so many.” Armin whispers, voice hoarse and breathless. “I’ve killed so many people, Kylo.” 

Kylo doesn’t know what expression flashes across his face, but whatever it had been must have been right. Armin groans and thrusts up faster into his mouth, ruthless. When he comes moments later it’s with a low growl, guttural, and he forces Kylo’s head down to empty into his throat. Kylo swallows, compulsively, familiar relief washing over him as Armin’s features soften. 

“I love you,” Kylo says again, wiping drool on the back of his hand. The words are unfamiliar and he can’t quite manage to keep them inside. “Tell me. Tell me about all of them.”

“Gladly,” Armin answers, tugging Kylo up to kiss him. “Why don’t you take that pretty cock of your’s out, and let me play with you? And I’ll tell you all about each and every one of my little projects.” 

As Kylo fumbles to obey he offers a silent prayer of thanks. He’ll worry in the morning about how much of this is real and about the police. Right now he’s sure he’s found exactly where he belongs. He has never been happier.

 

+++++

 

Ben is awake, falling, stumbling, two fingers down his throat already as he collapses to his knees in front of the toilet. It helps with the nausea if he can make himself vomit. He keeps his fingers there even as he retches, sour bile and old liquor flooding back up to splatter the pristine white toilet bowl and make the drying scraps on his knuckles sting. When the flow ends he presses his fingers deeper, conjuring up the last remaining splashes. He rests his head against the cool plastic of the toilet seat and takes a few deep, shuddering breaths as his stomach is wracked with dry heaves. 

Breathe, he tells himself.

Breathe. He remembers Poe’s voice the first time they’d gotten black-out drunk together. Count backwards from ten. You’re okay. 

Remember where you are and how you got here.

The bathroom is dark, but he can make out the shape of the enormous tub, the plants resting on the wide edge, piles of clothing on the floor and cosmetics crowding the counter. He’s naked, disoriented, but at least a little more sure of where he is.

It comes back as a series of disjointed sensations. Noise, lights, Armin, blood, the house, taste of jizz in his mouth, alcohol, more blood. Armin holding him down, laughing, spitting in his face, more blood, vodka. He runs his hand down his bare abdomen and feels the raised and swollen gashes there. They’re mostly dried out now, crusted over with fresh scabs. The cuts sting, but only a little. 

He aches inside and out. He doesn’t know if the pain inside is from being so violently sick or from the almost inhuman fervor Armin had fucked him with. It’s easy to piece together what happened, but Ben can’t manage to string together much more of a reaction than a muttered “Holy shit.” and a self-depreciating laugh. He flushes the toilet, wipes his hands on a discarded towel, and makes his way back to the bedroom. The room spins, but not as violently as before. 

Ben thinks that, maybe, he can handle this. He’ll find his clothes, call Poe to pick him up, and just...go. Slip out unnoticed. It’s still dark outside, but through the window he can see the sky lightening into dawn. He’ll process whatever the hell has happened tonight when he wakes up later. 

He silently picks his clothes off the floor, pulling on the pants and shirt that he managed to find. His shoes are nowhere to be seen, and he’d rather get out while he has the chance than risk waking Armin. He doesn’t even dare look too long at the rumpled bed, just makes his way barefoot down the stairs.

Downstairs he finds the kitchen light on. From the staircase he can hear Armin’s voice, and smell something that might be bacon being cooked. 

“Honestly, Millie,” Armin is telling the cat, “The studio can’t expect me to just drop every little thing for them. I have a life outside of them, even if they don’t like it.”

Ben had hoped his walk of shame wouldn’t include actually having to look Armin in the face, but there was no way out. Not unless he wanted to try jumping from the bedroom balcony. He wasn’t even sure why Armin was awake. It was just barely sunrise outside. Shouldn’t Armin be hungover, or at least tired? Maybe he could just wait until he was distracted…? No. There was no reason to be running away in the first place. He hadn’t done anything wrong, had he?

He walks into the kitchen to find Armin wearing a loosely tied pink kimono, frying thick slices of bacon. A pile of scrambled eggs was already waiting on the counter, Millicent close enough that her tail was almost in it. 

“Good morning~” Armin turns to him, smiling and cheerful and generally too happy to be awake this early. “I didn’t wake you did I? It’s just after six. I couldn’t sleep so I went for a run and then when I got home you were still sleeping, so I’m making us breakfast..” 

“No, I..um. I was just gonna call Poe to pick me up.” Ben admitted, looking down at his bare feet. He was doing his best not to see the bruises on Armin’s throat that echoed his hands, or the shallow cuts on his chest. 

“Who?’ The darkness that passes over his features is almost impossible to detect. His eyes go a little too wide, his smile looks a little too frozen. It’s gone before Ben can process it. “Nevermind, I don’t care who. Let him sleep a little longer. I’ll drop you off later. Pour us some coffee. We need to talk, Kylo.”

He found two mugs in the cupboard above the coffee machine, trying to swallow the dread those words had brought to the surface. “It’s Ben.” He offered. “My real name’s Ben Solo.”

“Is it? I like Kylo so much better.” Armin plated up breakfast, and rather than carry it into the dining room simply hopped up onto the counter. His kimono slipped down his shoulder, revealing the purple remains of a bite. There were marks all over the parts of him visible to Ben -bites and scratches and bruises and cuts. That ivory skin made such a beautiful canvas for the work he had applied himself so thoroughly to. “Which one are you? Ben or Kylo?”

Ben looked silently into his coffee mug for a few moments before answering. “I’m not sure. Lately I feel like Ben and Kylo are two different people, and neither of them is really me. I’m...lost.” Last night had been something Ben would never have done. He wasn’t sure he’d had any problem with it as Kylo...but shouldn’t that scare him? “Armin, we killed someone last night. Thats...You know, kind of a big deal?”

“Oh please!” Armin giggled, offering Millicent a piece of bacon. “You’re still on about that? If it came back to us-and that’s a big ‘if’- the police would think we’d done them a favor. Anyway, there’s nothing to lead back to us!”

“There were security cameras! Someone could have seen us!” Ben snapped. 

 

“Maybe.” Armin conceded, slipping from his perch on the counter to invade Ben’s space. He stepped in close, plucking the mug from his grasp to twine his fingers in with Ben’s and leaning in to kiss him gently. “But we’re safe. I promise. I’m untouchable. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

That seemed wrong. All of it seemed so powerfully wrong, but Armin was so close, and so sure of himself, Ben couldn’t help believing him. 

 

“Now then,” Armin stepped back, breaking off whatever tenderness might have been there. “I understand a lot of things happened last night, and I said a lot of things, and in light of our little...incident...at The Babylon you might be tempted to go to the police.But, that really won’t be in your best interest. You understand,don’t you, that if you turn yourself in you’re very likely going to end up in prison? And do you know what happens to pretty little boys like you in prison?” He trails off, letting Ben spin his own nightmare. 

Armin had been gesturing with his hands as he spoke, but now he returned to drape his arms over Ben’s shoulders. “You and I could do that again.” Armin’s voice dropped into the low, seductive whisper that Ben almost remembered from last night. “I don’t want to have to give you up, not over something as trivial as one death. We could have that magic any time you wanted. All you have to do is be a good boy and obey me. Trust me, and I’ll take care of you. You can do that, can’t you, Ben?”

Hearing his real name from those lips was enough to melt away the lingering traces of doubt. It had felt good last night, watching how carelessly Armin had ended someone’s life. He had felt powerful. More than anything, Ben wanted to stay with Armin. He had a shot at a real relationship with the man he had obsessed over for years. He slipped his arms around Armin’s waist, tugging him closer. “I’ll do anything you ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our-dark-lord-millicent drew Hux in his amazing [shorts!! ](http://our-dark-lord-millicent.tumblr.com/post/150739060341/sussudio-hux-is-done-finaly-o-based) How do I even breathe???
> 
> I love the glitter shorts so much you cannot understand.


	5. Nasty Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All those naughty little things  
> That we don't discuss publicly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-indulgent shlock. Shoutout to [ Chelsea ](http://horatiosroom.tumblr.com/) for beta reading.

The next few weeks are magical. Armin can’t get enough of the way Kylo idolizes him. They can spend hours together in bed, Kylo dutifully coaxing out every ounce of pleasure Armin’s body can give. He’s never had a lover more devoted or more obedient and for a little while it’s enough. Kylo is wonderful for keeping those dark compulsions at bay, if only because being stuffed full of Kylo’s cock doesn’t leave room for any other thoughts. 

 

The compulsion always comes back. It’s an intrinsic part of him. Armin long ago gave up trying to banish his strange needs. He could remember a time when he felt guilty about this hunger… but that had been reflexive guilt, forced on him by years of trying to be something he wasn’t. By now he knew his needs, however unconventional, were nothing to be ashamed of.

 

Three months pass and he wakes up hungry. He lays in the dark trying to place the exact kind of hunger. It isn’t exactly stomach hunger, and it isn’t the funny itching in his fingers that tells him his body needs more coke. The feeling is simultaneously everywhere and nowhere, a hunger that burns deeper than any of his other lusts. It is a powerful, nearly overwhelming urge to consume. He wants everything he touches to crumble, he wants to own all of it, he wants to make everything he sees bow before him and be thankful for its place in his design.

 

On nights like that there’s only one thing he can do.

Before he might have done this alone. Now he has Kylo to help him out.

On the phone he allows a tremor to slip into his voice. “Please,” he begins as soon as he hears Kylo pick up the other end of the line. “I… I know it’s late, but please. I need you.”

Kylo is on his doorstep before Armin is even sure he’s ready to go. They don’t talk about it, exactly. Between kisses (Armin sitting on the dining room table with his hands in Kylo’s hair, Millicent under the table growling at the pair of them) he whispers something against Kylo’s generous lips about hunger, about how much he loves him.

 

“I had an idea,” Armin says into the crook of Kylo’s neck, mouth moving against old bruises. “You’ll help me, won’t you? I’ve got so many things to share with you, darling. I was just waiting until I was sure you would understand.”

 

Picking up the raw material is easy. There’s a large greyhound terminal not far from Armin’s home, and they walk silently through the drifters and the junkies and the runaways until Kylo finds one that he knows won’t resist them. They haven’t talked about what they’re going to do with this thing, but Armin is sure it’s obvious.

All the times he’d gotten himself off telling Kylo how he wanted to tear him apart must have made it clear what his intentions were. By now he thinks Kylo knows exactly what he’s thinking anyway.

 

The drifter they’ve chosen is smaller than Armin, short and malnourished with reddish hair and a smattering of freckles across its face. It makes Armin laugh. Of course this is what Kylo would pick. 

 

“You have a type,” Armin notices, and Kylo grins at him. 

The drifter slurs its name and leans heavily against Kylo as they walk back to Poe’s borrowed Delorean. At almost three in the morning, it’s reasonable to think Kylo didn’t bother asking permission before borrowing it. 

 

“You’re lucky we found you when we did,” Armin says to their toy as the three slide into the car. The thing is small enough to almost fit in his lap, and wants nothing more than to keep holding onto Kylo. It settles for compressing between them in the front seat, rather than crawling into the small space in the back. “It’s not safe out there. All kinds of things could happen to you. Where are you from?”

 

It blinks owlishly, tilts its head to the side as if only just now seeing Armin. “Memphis,” it answers after a moment. 

Armin’s other attempts to get it to talk are mostly fruitless. It watches Kylo with dazed, empty eyes and quietly fingers the track marks on its arms. The ride home is short, and the thing seems happy to listen to Armin talk.

“We have a guest room downstairs,” Armin explains as he leads the thing through the house. “We’ll let you stay down there, alright? If you’re hungry I can bring you some dinner.”

“No. Uh…” The drifter hesitates on the stairs, Armin ahead of it and Kylo looming in the doorway behind. “Um. Yeah. Thats cool. Listen, I can’t let you guys do me raw, okay? You gotta…” Clearly just that has taken more effort than it’s capable of. “You can use my mouth raw, but like. Anywhere else you gotta wrap it.” 

 

Armin’s smile is already strained, and he’s reaching out to grab the worthless little whore by its shirt and throw it down the stairs--

 

When Kylo wraps his arms around it, almost protective. Comforting. “We’ll take good care of you, kiddo. Don’t worry.” Armin lets something like jealousy burn out in his stomach. He never feels like this when he watches Kylo’s videos (which he does with alarming frequency, sometimes with the real Kylo spread out beneath him), but this is different. These little shows of compassion should be his alone, not wasted on things they’re only going to throw away.

 

Downstairs the thing stares in dumb confusion at the white-tile surgical room. It takes in the cage, the small selection of knives arranged on the little steel table. “W...what?” It tries, stepping backwards. “No, no, I don’t do. Uh. None of the blood stuff okay, none of--”

 

“I know, I know. Come here.” Kylo says soothingly, wrapping his arms around the anxious little thing. “See? You’re fine.” He repeats before breaking into a quiet laugh. He holds the stranger from behind, arms wrapped solidly around it. “What am I doing with them, Armin?”

“Hold it down. Pull its shirt up,” Armin orders, and within moments the three of them are on the floor. Kylo has yanked off the thing’s shirt and discarded it, and Armin is running shaking hands up its bruised sides.

 

This won’t be a work of art, like his other projects have been.This isn’t going to be some great masterpiece to show the world who it really belongs to. This one is just food. When it comes down to it, everything is just meat. 

 

Armin pushes the thing’s scrawny legs apart, kneeling to look into its dark eyes. It doesn’t have the sense to be afraid. 

 

He wishes he had been strong enough to break its neck.

 

He thinks about that often, how it would feel to cradle the base of someone’s skull in his hands and twist. One quick, certain jerk and they would go limp. He’s heard the sound plenty of times, but has never been the one to make it happen. 

 

He wants to kill with his bare hands, but that’s hard when he’s so small. He isn’t strong enough yet. (but that’s what he has Kylo for). He probably could tear into this one with his teeth and hands, but not tonight. That takes so long, dull human teeth gnawing and gnawing and gnawing to get through the jugular. He’s not what he should have been.

 

Doing that was wasteful. Armin is too hungry for that. He retrieves a large scalpel from the selection laid out on the table, while Kylo whispers sweetly to their increasingly agitated meal.

 

Armin makes the first incision just under the things sternum, sinking the blade in deep and dragging down. It thrashes, shrieks, but Kylo holds it steady. The glorious thing about bodies, he had learned, was that no matter how small they are, no matter how much weight they lose, everything inside is just dying to get out. 

 

It blossoms beautiful and pink and shining. 

 

He buries his hands in it, breathes deep the copper smell of blood. It feels so good, soft and slick and better than any lovers could ever be. It opens for him, needs to be consumed as much as he needs to consume it.

 

Shaking hands cling to tender meat that tries to slide away. He brings it to his mouth, and it is a riot of taste and color behind his tightly clenched eyelids. It crashes down on him with a light and force that is nothing short of holy, and he cannot stop.

 

Blessed silence and peace descend upon him as he ruts against the thrashing leg, pressing as much of his weight in as he can stand. There is blood puddling on the tile beneath them, hot and impossibly thick. There should be shame, but he’s beyond that. The thing beneath him might have felt shame, but Armin’s better than that.

 

He tears into the soft tissue of the intestines. He can eat and eat all night, and his hunger won’t be sated. He can keep at this until his stomach is distended and he can barely move, and it still won’t have been enough. He tears open the stomach, with the knife and shaking hands, to plunge his face into what remains of its last meal. Teeth dig through whatever it had been-soft and brown and overpoweringly sweet now. 

It’s mostly intestines this far down, which slide gloriously under his palms, warmer and more comforting than anything save Millicent. His teeth find liver, tearing into it, shuddering as he swallows chunks of it whole. The kidneys are bitter but that too is good. It’s all delicious, perfect, this wonderful gift the thing bleeding out beneath him has given him.

 

He tears off chunk after chunk, swallowing down as much as he can of his newest treat. He thinks he comes twice while he gorges himself, but the purely mechanical function is beneath the gluttonous ecstasy of feeding like this. Somewhere beyond him he knows Kylo is still there, still holding tight to what is now a silent and passive partner in their carnage. 

 

It feels like hours before Armin sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Kylo stares at him, mouth hanging open and pupils dilated. 

“Holy fuck,” Kylo whispers, and laughs a little. “That was...I can’t believe you just…” He swallows down whatever it was he was failing to articulate. “I love you. I know I say that a lot, I just can’t get over...You can’t imagine what it felt like, being alone with thoughts about this kind of stuff, and then you just…” The worship written across his far too honest face is something Armin is still getting used to. “You’re amazing.”

 

Armin crawls to him on hands and knees, pushing the mangled body aside to settle down in Kylo’s lap. “I know. I thought I was going to be alone forever, and when I found you…” He lays his forehead on Kylo’s shoulder, taking a slow breath to steady himself. “I can’t imagine being with anyone else now.” He slides his hand, stained red with drying blood, under Kylo’s shirt to skim over his stomach. “I never want to let you go.” 

 

In the dark recesses of Ben’s mind, something is unfurling. The germ of an idea, what had before only been a series of shameful images projected onto the back of tightly clenched eyelids, now solidifies into a prophecy. “I want to make you this happy all the time.”


	6. Waking Up (Like From a Dream)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben has trouble with time, Armin has a great idea.

Two weeks pass with Ben sequestered in Armin’s home. He thinks it’s been two weeks. It may have been longer. He sleeps, drinks, does lines of coke off a silver tray that Armin says had been his grandmother’s. There are pills for him sometimes, which Ben cannot identify, and little tabs of acid. He doesn’t like the acid as much as the pills. Acid is almost always bad for him, but there is such variety to the pills Armin gives him that the chance of a good trip is higher. They fuck, of course, something that has become so essential to Ben he doesn’t know how he functioned without it. He’s good at that, good at making Armin feel loved and wanted. That’s enough for Ben. Work becomes a thing of the past for Ben. He understands already that he’ll be leaving lots of things behind. 

When Armin is gone-meeting with someone at the studio or in talks with the publisher responsible for the diet book his name is being used for-Ben tries to be useful. He cooks or cleans, tries to take care of whatever the house needs. He goes days without speaking to anyone but Armin. It is a tremendous relief. 

By now his scars are enough to end his short-lived porn career. There aren’t too many of them, as far as Ben is concerned, but he also knows no one is going to buy a video where the star looks like he’s been cut open. 

Sometimes he gets distracted with the large scar across his stomach, running his fingers over it until his mind goes blank. He’s doing exactly that now, feet hanging in the warm water of the indoor pool while rain pounds at the glass lanai. It’s November, he thinks, which he understands isn’t supposed to be a stormy season. Rey’s birthday would be coming up-if it actually is November. It might not be such a bad idea to give her a call. He realizes that if it is November (and he thinks it is, he thinks he saw it in the little pink date book that Armin keeps his appointments listed in) then he must have been here for much longer than two weeks. But that can’t possibly be right, can it?

Ben is jolted out of his reverie by the door behind him banging open and shut. He turns to see Armin, soaked from the rain, with Millicent on his heels. 

“Shit, sorry!” Ben scrambles to his feet. There are towels around here somewhere, aren’t there? 

“It’s fine, darling.” Armin grins, already peeling off his soaked clothing. “Don’t worry about it. Listen, I’ve had the most wonderful idea.” he toes his sneakers off, and tugs his shorts down, stepping out of the wet garment without a hint of shame. Wet and naked, he wraps his arms around Ben’s hips and pulls him close. “Do you want to hear it?”

It wouldn’t have mattered what the idea was. Armin’s sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks were enough for Ben to decide he already loved it. “Of course.” He says, all thoughts of Rey fleeing his mind. 

“They were talking about us on the news this afternoon, about the installation we left outside that church?”

Ben only remembers that one in snippets-the materials going cold in his hand, daylight pouring through the windows behind the pulpit. He doesn’t interrupt, just nods as Armin steamrolls through the conversation.

“And I thought, why not try to leverage a little more control on exactly what they’re saying? But how to do it? I can’t just write them a letter, there’s no telling what they would do with it. You remember how they treated Zodiac, don’t you? That poor man.”

 

Again, Ben only nods. Armin talks about other killers with a familiarity that makes them sound like old friends. 

“Anyway, then I got to thinking about something that happened when I was still living in Ireland, where a television signal was hijacked and I thought...well, why not do that! How hard could it possibly be?” Armin’s smile is too wide for his face, the gigawatt light in his eyes too much for Ben to look directly at.

Thunder crashes overhead and the wind begins to roar again. It is too well timed for Ben to take it as any kind of premonition. 

“Do you mean like...a live performance?” Ben ventures cautiously. 

Armin nods, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Yes. We’ll break into every home in America through their television screens. It’s perfect, isn’t it? So many of them have already let us in like that. Imagine it-the whole country seeing what you and I have created.”

The excitement is contagious. A few months ago, Ben wouldn’t have let himself show this much happiness. Now he lets himself scoop Armin up, peppering his face with kisses as they both laugh. “That’s brilliant! That’s genius! I know the exact materials. There’s this girl at the corner store, I’ve been watching her for a few days-”

“No.” Armin snaps so abruptly that Ben freezes up. “No, Ben.” He tries again a little gentler. “I don’t want to use just anything for this. It needs to be someone special.” His hand spread out on Ben’s chest, centered over the beating of his heart. “I want it to be you, Ben. This is the biggest piece of my life. It has to be you.”

It has to be you.

It has to be you.

The words roll through Ben’s brain, dousing his excitement like cold water. He sets Armin down, gently, and chews on the scab lingering inside his mouth. “I...Shit, Armin, I don’t know if I can do that.” He thinks he means, ‘I’m afraid’. He thinks he means ‘I don’t want to die yet’.

He must have meant something different, because Armin’s sweet reassurance isn’t anything that would answer those fears. Instead he laughs, pulls Ben in for a gentle kiss. “Don’t you worry. You’re going to be perfect. You’re so beautiful, you’re already a work of art. Just think of what we’re going to do as a few...improvements.” He lapses into giggles again, and now his certainty is almost enough to reassure Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Armin is talking about [the Southern Television broadcast hijacking](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Southern_Television_broadcast_interruption). He probably would not have seen the initial broadcast, but it would have been popular enough in the news for him to be aware of it and interested. 
> 
> If you liked this, talk to me on 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find out more about this clusterfuck [ here!](http://c4rc4ss.tumblr.com/sussudio)
> 
> Characters, concept, art and overall plot were created by [Chelsea.](http://c4rc4ss.tumblr.com) Words and additional poor choices by [ Memphis. ](http://tinfoil-on-the-windows.tumblr.com)


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